Just a Soldier
by Weiila
Summary: Written for a competition on the subject 'Fill in a plothole'. Jak 2 prequel, set outside Haven City where a group of people are waiting for news while a new day approaches.


_Author's note: _Written for the Jak fanfics livejournal competition on plot holes.

Just a Soldier

I ain't important. That's all I had, and all we needed right then.

'-'

A drizzle began to fall, tiny drops melting into the muddy ground without changing much. Mud clung to the men and women's boots, but they did nothing to change it. There was no use. No use but wait, sitting on rocks and the scattered remains of the buildings around them.

They were silent, weapons resting across their laps, hands on the barrels ready to fight at any sound.

Mud clung to the boots of the only one who moved, lumps of wet, dead earth dripping from the leathery soles for every step he took. The others avoided looking at him, the frantic stride of his pacing unsettling them all. But nobody told him to sit down and wait with them. Nobody had the authority to tell him anything.

Nobody had ever seen him like this.

It was too silent, only his steps made a sound. No birds cooed in the dead swamp, no four legged hunters prowled the area for food. The warriors may not hear any attacker in the dusk, but they would very well see them. That was not what they feared. They dealt with such things on an almost daily basis.

The trample of boots was different, if it was just one pair approaching them. The way it might move – fleeing or stumbling, limping onwards to bring them news, or merely walking, unscathed but slow, every step telling their sensitive ears about the failure.

The pacing continued. Frantic, impatient, waiting for that trample. Any version of it would do, anything better than the frigid silence and the whisper of tiny raindrops.

There was nothing for them here, in this broken landscape that had been familiar just a few years ago. Some of them could even remember when grass had been covering the earth, that which now was nothing but the slimy mud stretching across endless ruins. They tried not to think about it.

Perhaps it was a trap, but they had never had a chance to think that far in their scramble to grab weapons and begin the hunt, racing to make it to the far quicker transport flying across the dunes. Their too slow vehicles passing across sand, then moving from sand to rock, rock to mud, and now they were here. In fear of their heavy buggies sinking into the soft ground they had stopped here. Now, they had given up.

They would not admit it, they would not allow themselves to admit it. But it was already too late, and they knew it.

All that was left was to accept it, but for that they needed that trample.

In a distance, a line of darkness reared up beneath a veil of electric light spilling from a world closed to them. They were too far away to be seen, but going closer would be too dangerous. Either way, they had no way inside.

Waiting, to the sound of the pacing.

The wall of blackness stood in silence, smirking down at their puny existence. For all their struggle and the strength they had assembled, there was nothing they could do about this distance. It had already taken one of the most precious things they had, while they were stuck in the mud. Every day survived had been a victory, but what did it matter now?

But the pacing would not cease.

It trudged through the sludge, ceaseless, tireless despite the hours of neither sleep nor rest – would not stop, could not stop.

Slowly a dull glow crept onto the horizon, warning about the approaching dawn. The sunrise would have to drive them away, they could not remain where they could be seen.

There was a distant sound.

Ears twitched and feet bore into the mud as the warriors stood, movement calling to the pacing to end.

It stopped.

They listened, hands clenching around their guns.

The sound grew stronger, from a soft whisper in the darkness to a rhythm. Muscles tensed while hearts sank.

Somebody was hurrying towards them, but he was not fleeing. They knew the sound of a man running for his life. These steps were too steady, secure. The steps alone told them that the approaching figure carried nothing of importance, nothing better than possibly information. And he was not moving frantically enough for it to be anything new.

They remained still, seeing the approaching silhouette through the dusk and light rain, as their eyes had gotten used to the darkness long ago. Similarly, the messenger moved straight towards them, knowing and seeing.

The pacing started again, going to meet him.

"Well?"

The single word slashed the silence, more spat than spoken. They all heard the bitterness in it, clenching their teeth. The trample stopped.

No salute. There was no patience, no care. No use.

"I fear they made it inside, your lordship."

Silence.

"… I see."

The bitterness was gone and he turned around, standing straighter than ever as he surveyed the men and women who had followed him through the night. They too straightened their backs, changing the grip of their guns.

We're ready anytime you ask, your lordship.

The glow on the horizon reached its first tendrils of light towards the murky sky, too weak to illuminate much. But it was enough to make every silent shadow more distinct, revealing identities and names to the king who studied them.

All of them loyal and able, prepared to follow any order he gave them. All of them faithful warriors ready to give their lives for his sake.

All of them known in the other world. He looked them over and in the darkness he saw faceless silhouettes he knew by name, shadows that would be recognized as soon as they stepped into the light. A general, lieutenants, sergeants. His best men had followed him on this hopeless hunt, their loyalty suddenly a curse that made all of them useless for the task he needed done. Not one of them would be able to walk safely on the streets behind the wall, faces recognizable to their enemies.

The realization was already upon them as it was on him, but they did not step back. The risk was theirs, but the choice was his.

One of them had to be unknown enough. He looked again, tension spreading through the air even if nobody moved. It was too apparent that he hesitated, he who could not possibly do such a thing. Not in this situation, not ever.

He clenched his teeth, turning his head quicker. Not one of them- but there was one man standing in the back, whose name escaped him when he tried to recall it. He narrowed his eyes, looked again.

The name was there somewhere, but it was obscured by either darkness or…

"You."

His finger snapped forwards, aimed like a gun. For a second the man stood frozen, but only for that brief moment. Then he stepped forwards, bowing his head in respect.

"Your lordship?"

Damas studied him for a moment longer, now that the distance was shortened and the light had spread a little farther the face made sense again. The name still escaped him, but he recognized the warrior. Just a foot soldier, but known to deal with the tough situation in the wasteland well enough. The king recalled it now, this man being on his way out into the desert when the alarm sounded, and already being ready offering his vehicle to the hunters.

He could be anybody.

Damas clenched his teeth, forcing his mind to focus on what he had to do.

"I want you to find a way inside the city and continue the search," he said.

The head bowed deeper for a moment, then begun to raise up. An expression set in stony determination was revealed, as the shadows lifted just a little more.

"It would be best to seek out the mafia or anything else that would deal with low enough business to have the information we need," Damas said.

"Understood, your lordship."

They watched each other now, eyes at the same level. And the face finally had a name. Damas clenched his fists in the moment he finally gave up, handing over all his hope to somebody who could walk where he no longer could tread.

The head bowed down just the slightest again, but the eyes kept watching him. There was surprise and awe in them, confusion of being the one chosen. But those feelings fell back for the resolve to follow the order to his last breath.

"Find my son, Sig," Damas said.

"Yes, your lordship."

End.

_Author's Note:_ Well, not as much a plot hole as something left unexplained; why did Damas send Sig to search for his son?

And to tell the truth, before I went to upload this story here I didn't realize that this is the second Sig-centric fic I've written and given a title starting with "Just a…". A series in the making? The future shall see.


End file.
